Claiming the Forbidden Bride by Gayle Wilson Page B

insanity.
    Satisfied at last that her vardo was empty, Nadya descended its high steps, only to realize that someone was running toward the caravan. She had a fraction of a second to decide whether to try to hide or to fight her way past the approaching man.
    â€˜Drabarni?’
    Nicolaus, she realized in relief. ‘Have you seen Angel?’
    â€˜No, drabarni . Have they taken her?’
    The concern in his voice was almost her undoing. Up until now Nadya hadn’t even thought of that possibility.
    Now she knew she must. An English child in the middle of a Romany camp might well be considered someone in need of rescue. Someone to be taken back to ‘civilization.’ Someone who would eventually, perhaps, be returned to that awful existence from which Nadya had wrenched her away.
    â€˜I don’t know. Please help me find her, Nicolaus. Will you go into the forest and see if she’s there?’
    â€˜Of course, drabarni . What will you do?’
    â€˜Make sure she didn’t go to Magda’s caravan. If you see her—’ She hesitated, unsure what to tell him. ‘If you see her, take her with you. Keep her safe, Nicolaus.’
    Nadya was off before he had a chance to reply. She headed back in the direction from which she’d come, again cutting straight across the disordered compound.
    A dozen of the tents had been set afire. Here and there were upended carts, some of those ablaze as well. A few fights still raged, but it quickly became apparent that more and more of the Rom had slipped away, recognizing that they couldn’t defend the camp against the larger force.
    Theirs was a strategy perfected through the centuries. They would melt into the forest, carrying their mostvaluable possessions, mostly gold and gems, which were always kept hidden where they could be snatched up with a few seconds’ warning.
    The rest—the pots and pans, clothing and bedding, even the implements of their trades—could all be replaced. Their lives could not.
    Their lives.
    Someone in the kumpania would surely have scooped up a wandering child and carried her with them, Nadya told herself. If Angel wasn’t in Magda’s caravan, then she’d been taken to the woods. The Rom, any one of them, would keep her safe.
    Please, dear God, let her be safe.
    By some miracle she managed to reach the other side of the clearing without incident. Her grandmother’s vardo , too heavy for the marauders to tip over, appeared unmolested.
    She hurried up its steps, flinging aside the curtain at the top. The fires outside were bright enough to illuminate the front. After a cursory search of that, Nadya ran toward the sleeping partition at the rear. Angel sat upright in the middle of the bed they’d shared since Rhys had regained consciousness. Her rag doll and the cat Rhys had carved for her—forgotten in the initial terror—were clasped to her chest.
    In the dimness, the child’s eyes were wide and dark with fear. As Nadya bent toward her, the little girl’s trembling thumb made a familiar stroke down her cheek—the sign Nadya used for reassurance. Quickly echoing that gesture, Nadya picked up her daughter, hugging her close.
    Tears of joy sprang to her eyes at the feel of the small solid body against hers, but despite the overwhelming flood of relief she felt, there was no time for emotion. They were back where they’d started, and the journey they must undertake to safety seemed even more fraught with peril than before.
    Nadya wrapped her own shawl around the child, who shook with cold or fear, and carried her toward the front of the wagon. Shifting Angel into a more upright position, she managed to negotiate the steps. Once on the ground, she took a moment to assess the situation.
    The myriad fires had made the clearing as bright as day. Only a few of the Rom still resisted, a rear-guard action intended to give the women and children as much time as possible to get